They Call Me Red
by MoreRefinedThanMost
Summary: This is an AU that is very special to me. It is the story of Alfred finding his way out of a personal crisis and into the life he was meant to have. Rated M, honestly, for later chapters, and language (undoubtedly). His "other half", or the other half of this pairing has yet to be decided, so that you can look at his new life and decide with me who to bring in to shake things up.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I recommend putting on the song, "Prairie Town" by The Wailin' Jennys.**

* * *

"Alfred."

The man peered at him coolly over his glasses.

"_Alfred."_

He seemed to grab the blond's attention that time. "Yeah... Yeah?"

"Don't hear me wrong. I'm not telling you to run away. If you're going to take my advice, then you need to do this correctly."

"Mm-hmm."

"Alfred, I mean it. You must tell your parents."

Alfred shifted in his seat, coming back from his mind's eye to try to take in what his therapist had told him. "I don't know if I can do that. My 'rents don't even know I come to see you, you know?"

Sighing, the man across from him removed his glasses, searching momentarily for a safe place to set them down before clasping his hands in his lap. "Yes, Alfred, I do know. But that isn't a reason to drop everything and leave in the night like a fugitive."

Still, Alfred Jones, tired and downtrodden as he was, he felt something, a hoping, a longing, a small fluttering thing, brush its feathers against his chest. There was a way out.

Finally, after all that had happened, there was way out.

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**A/N: This story... it means a lot to me. It's hard to explain why, but it really hits close to home, and the day that the idea settled in for a nice long cup of coffee was the day that I realized something about our beloved Alfred Jones. There is more to him, and I think it's time to give him the opportunity to be something else. I hope you'll like this. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I will always try to recommend a song at the start of my chapters of this fic, to help set the mood and give more understanding to my reimagined Alfred. (Of course, Alfred belongs to Hima. Anyhoo.)**

**"Light of a Clear Blue Morning" by The Wailin' Jennys. Did you know, if you find the video on YouTube, you can go to the web address and replace "youtube" with "Listenonrepeat" to hear the song on a continuous loop? That's pretty nice.**

* * *

His stomach seemed to literally drop through the floor and freefall into Hell when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

"U-Uh..."

"Is everything okay, Mr. Jones?" Joe, the car salesman (one of the few good ones in the world) asked.

Alfred's eyes were trained on his phone screen. "House", the caller I.D. said. He couldn't remember when he'd changed it to "House" from "Home". He'd been avoiding the calls from his parents for about three weeks now, and the only reason he'd gotten away with not talking to his parents was one, because he was at a school eight hours from his home city, and two, because his social media accounts were still active (the only confirmation that he hadn't offed himself quite yet).

"Yes, I'm sorry, everything's fine."

The salesman looked at him almost sympathetically. "Would you like to see the interior of the truck?"

He nodded slightly, stepping closer to it.

It was a 1980s Ford F-series, red and cream, and had long ago lost its shine. It apparently would always look a little dusty, a little... beaten up.

His heart flipped over in his chest as he opened the door, the metal of the handle seemingly warm in his hand. The fabric of the seats reminded me of the old comforter at his grandfather's home— it had been soft in its heydey, but had gotten a bit scratchy over time from wear and tear, from being sat in by... by how many different owners, Alfred wondered?

The radio was an old crank dial, and the gear shift would take a bit of force to push...

"Does it have air conditioning?"

The salesman frowned, looking over the report on his clipboard. "No... It's out, but the heating still works. We considered replacing the unit, and we still can—"

"No... No, it's fine just how it is."

"S-So..."

"I'll take it. I want this one."

"Really?" Joe asked incredulously, looking Alfred up and down as if looking for physical signs of insanity.

"Yeah," he said with at first at slow, light nod that then resolved itself into a firm up and down, a nod of assurance. This was the first thing he was sure about in... in a long while.

"Okay. Then we'll get this paperwork taken care of and you can take this ole' pooter home."

Home. A smile tugged gently at the right corner of his mouth. "Yeah. I'm taking it home."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: ****"We All Die Trying to Get it Right" by Vance Joy**

* * *

"I'm afraid I don't understand, son... You're dropping out of college... and you're just going to move?"

Alfred swallowed and nodded slowly. "Yeah, Dad... That's what I said."

Alfred's mother looked at her. Libby (Liberty) Jones was very much what one could expect of the terms "uptight", "rich", and "materialistic mother". She was dressed in all black, with a string of pearls hanging long over her slender frame. She took a wary sip of wine to distract herself. "Honey, but why?"

"Yes, why?" Samuel said, being, of course, exactly what one could expect of a rich and graying father.

"Well," Alfred said, taking a somewhat deep breath, "When we went to Oklahoma to that horse ranch, back when I was little, I—"

"_Again_ with the horses, Alfred?" Samuel sighed. He turned to Libby with an exasperated sigh. "It's always about the horse ranch with him, I swear, Liberty, we should never have gone. See how it's making him strange in the head?"

He tried not to just leave the table, as he used to when confrontations like this arose, or, god forbid, tear up from the frustration. He looked down the spacious table to where his ever-silent other half sat. Matthew just stared at the cold green bean casserole on his plate, pushing the abomination around to make it look like some of it had disappeared. As per usual, Matthew was no help.

Libby turned a pitying eye on her son, looking into his baby blues almost as if she understood. "You'll have to forgive your father, Alfie, it's just... First this whole _homosexual_ idea, and then veterinary medicine... but now dropping out? It's all a bit much, don't you think?" she asked with an empty half-smile, peering at her husband before redirecting her attention to her still-full wine glass.

He tried not to flinch at the blow. "Well, mother... I think the world has plenty of engineers without me thrown in. And why not get a taste of that fresh air?"

"Darling," Libby interjected, "If fresh air is what you need, why not just go to Cabo? We'll take you."

He groaned long-sufferingly. "No, ma, I don't want— No. I, I've thought this out, and... and this is what I'm doing."

"Oh?" Samuel cocked a brow over the rim of his glasses. "And when is this grand scheme going to start?" he asked with a chuckle, as if it were all some fanciful joke.

"Tonight." Alfred pushed away from the table, having had enough. "Right now. Thank you for the meal, mother. Or, I suppose Constantine deserves the credit, isn't that right?" He turned towards the kitchen doorway, where a woman, crippled in her old age, hunched in the doorway with a dishcloth between her dark brown hands. Constantine looked at Alfred with a glimmer of hope and maternal concern in her eyes. She had always been more of a mother to Alfred than Liberty Jones ever had.

"I have my truck packed, I have a full tank of gas, and I have a destination in mind." He reached into his pockets to find his smart phone before letting it thunk onto the table top. "I won't be needing this."

Liberty gave Samuel a look of shock. So, this was happening then?

"Thank you for your time. Matthew, I'll catch you around, I guess. I'm going to grab a few things from my room and head out."

He turned without sparing a glance for his father and headed out into the foyer, pausing at the stairs when he heard the shuffling of Mary Jane heels that had never quite fit small feet. "Allie?" a quavering voice said, deep southern accent as thick as the first day they'd met. Alfred had been secretly hoping to escape without having to endure this conversation. It would make him doubt his plan, purely because he'd be leaving _her_ behind.

Constantine placed a wrinkled hand over his where it lay on the banister of the staircase. She seemed to have shrunk in her age, Alfred thought, and her brown eyes had donned a slightly gray film over the irises. Her gray, wispy hair, was braided back from her face and pulled tight in a strict bun, but beyond that was the lap he had sat on, the bosom that he had slept on, and the shoulder that he had cried on often as he was growing up. "Allie, are you leavin'?"

Alfred turned around, eyes starting to pool. "Yes, Ms. Constantine, I... I am...?" He couldn't keep his voice from cracking, turning his statement into a frightened question.

"My golden boy," she crooned slowly, reaching to his neck to pull him nearer to her, where she could lean her weight on his frame on her teetering tiptoes. "My boy is leavin' ol' Constantine here while he goes off a-walkin'..."

He lowered himself to sit on the second step and, as Constantine followed suit, he buried his face in her chest.

"Now, now. We can't have none of that. My Allie boy is ready to go, and I think it's time." She reached her shaking hand into her pockets, where a few crumpled bills were kept, a strawberry hard candy, and a small gold ring. She nudged Alfred into sitting up and took his hand into her two, gently placing the objects into them. He turned his eyes up to hers, through his spiky, moistened lashes. "Now. Here's what you gon' do. You gon' driiiiive, and driiiive, and driiive, all way down there to Linger, Oklahoma, and you gonna find you there a Miss Annette. And all you's gon do, you's gon tell her, 'Constantine Smith say hello, how are you?'"

Alfred sniffled loudly. "Okay."

"Stop suckin' that snot into your head. Here." She fished a handkerchief out of her apron and passed it to him with a scolding look. "What I tell you about, about snortin' that gunk up into your brain?"

Alfred chuckled, though it was a bit warbled. "Well, Miss Constantine, I think you told me not to."

She smacked him on the back of the head. "That's right. Don't let me hear nothin' about you doin' that again. You got the boogies, you blow yo' nose. Didn't I teach you better 'an that mess?"

He laughed again. "Yeah."

She caught him on the back of the head again. "Don't 'Yeah' me," she said, lowering her voice into a poor imitation of Alfred's. "Say, 'yes, ma'am'."

The blond nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

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**A/N: I based Constantine off of my grandmother. I think the next chapter is when things are going to take off. :)**


End file.
